


Nightmare

by My_Beating_Hart



Series: A Mahariel's Travels [19]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: (don't worry I'm not that cruel), Angst, Blood, Gen, M/M, Nightmare, Not Really Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-09
Updated: 2014-12-09
Packaged: 2018-02-28 19:05:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2743739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Beating_Hart/pseuds/My_Beating_Hart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Theron has a very bad dream.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nightmare

“I have come to a decision.” Zevran announced as he approached the ranger sitting at the campfire one evening, folding his arms as he looked at Theron. “I think the time has come for me to go.”

Theron frowned in confusion.

“Didn’t you swear an oath to serve me?” He asked, looking back at the former Crow, who chuckled softly.

“Yes. But you did, as I remind you, have me at your mercy at the time.” The Antivan pointed out, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “As I see it, we have two options before us. Either you kill me, as you could have, perhaps should have done when you caught me, or you recognise that we are incompatible and allow me to leave peacefully. What is it to be?” He asked, unfolding his arms and letting them hang by his sides as he waited for the answer.

The ranger bit his lip. He didn’t really want Zevran to leave - didn’t want any of the group to leave.

“Please reconsider, Zevran.” He said, hoping it would work. “I need you.” He added, hoping it didn’t sound too forced, too faked.

“I…” Zevran trailed off and sighed wearily. “Oh, very well.” He muttered. “While it is against my better judgement, I will stay.” The blond decided. “I suspect it is simply so you may strip me of my equipment and send me packing anyhow, but let’s hope against hope for a better outcome, hm?” With that, the Antivan turned away and walked off, leaving the ranger to go back to staring at the fire.

 

Some time later, it felt like weeks but was perhaps only days, Theron went to speak to Zevran again. The Antivan sighed as he approached, stepping back slightly as he watched the Dalish elf.

“I do not know why I agreed to remain.” He admitted bitterly. “Things have certainly become no more pleasant. For good or ill, I can remain no longer in your company, Warden. The time has come for me to leave.”

Theron had been expecting as much, so the surprise was rather hollow.

“There’s no way you’ll reconsider again?” He asked, and Zevran frowned slightly.

“None. And I think you know this to be true.”

“Fine. Hand over all of your things first.”

The former Crow laughed then, but it was a humourless sound.

“Not likely. I earned what I have. I will leave with it, or not at all.”

Theron shook his head sadly.

“Do you really want to die that badly?” He asked gently.

“I’ll take that as an answer.” Zevran replied evasively, making a fist and smacking it into his other upturned palm as he prepared to fight. “Let’s hope I’ve learned a thing or two since our last encounter, hm?” He suggested, reaching for his blades.

Theron was already backing away, mostly to try and get out of immediate range, as he drew his bow in response.

“I wish it didn’t have to end like this.” He sighed, still backing away as the blond advanced. He drew an arrow anyway, calmly aimed it. Just as Zevran lunged forwards, he loosed the arrow. It stuck in the Antivan’s throat in a small spray of red, and he went down with a choked sound. Theron looked at him squirming on the ground at his feet, one hand reaching for the jutting arrow instinctively as he choked on his own blood. Better to put him out of his misery.

Theron nocked another arrow, aimed, and let it fly from close range. Zevran grew still, lying in a rapidly spreading pool of deep red that gleamed slickly in the firelight. The ranger watched the light leave his eyes impassively.

 

The Dalish elf’s eyes flew open to darkness. He sat up, trembling. What in Thedas and the Beyond had made him dream about something as terrible as _that_? Theron shivered, aware he was breathing hard, each breath a panicked gasp. He’d had a nightmare, that was it. A very vivid nightmare. A nightmare that Zevran had wanted to leave, and ended up dead. By his own hand, no less. And he’d had been so callous, so detached about it. He hadn't even felt that sad that the Antivan wanted to leave. Just mildly disappointed.

The ranger curled up with a muffled sound as the image of Zevran with an arrow in his throat came back unbidden, unwanted. He was shaking in earnest now, and his eyes stung with the threat of tears. He felt the furs beside him stir, and there was a quiet sound of protest from the other elf lying beside him.

“Theron, stop wriggling.” Zevran sighed in complaint, voice thick with sleep, reaching a hand over blindly to wrap his arm around the Dalish elf’s midsection, to pull him close.

The ranger let out a shaky breath, turning to face the blond as he pressed up against him, feeling the warmth of their bodies tangling together. It hadn’t been real, it had just been another nightmare...

“Zevran, you’re not thinking about leaving, are you?” He asked wildly, knowing it was irrational, but the shadow of the nightmare was still on him like a hawk - a dragon. The Antivan sighed deeply, and in the very faint light it was easy to see that his eyes were firmly shut. He hadn’t even picked up on the urgency to Theron’s sudden question.

“Of course not, _mi amor_. Why would I?” He asked slowly.

Theron relaxed slightly, comforted by the feeling of the blond holding him close.

“I’m not sure.” He admitted quietly, frowning to himself. There had been no reason given for why the Zevran in the nightmare wanted to leave, but since when did dreams and nightmares ever have to make sense?

“Then why are you worried?” Zevran asked softly, wriggling forwards blindly to rest his head against Theron’s collarbone. The black-haired man hesitated. Should he tell Zevran that he had had such a vivid, unpleasant nightmare? One that for once wasn’t about the darkspawn or the Archdemon, the hissed whispers in the dark?

“I just am, I suppose. It… It doesn’t matter. Go back to sleep, _lath_.” Theron eventually sighed, although he could feel that Zevran’s breathing had already slowed and deepened; he probably wouldn’t remember he’d even been woken up in the morning, and the Dalish elf wasn’t sure if he should be glad of that or not.

Needless to say, it took the ranger far longer to go back to sleep, a ratlike gnawing from the lump of fear in his chest that left him staring up at the dark canopy of the tent.

**Author's Note:**

> It was bound to happen sooner or later, so why not have a piece that incorporates Zevran wanting to leave without it actually being true canon?


End file.
